One Day
by Crazyfangirl23
Summary: A short compilation of both Charlotte and Henry's perspective before the events of Clockwork Prince.
1. Chapter 1

**So these two drabbles/one shots are from before Chenry realised they actually realised they loved each other, and I initially wrote them seperate, but thought it was a good idea to compile both their POV's into one short drabble/one shot compilation, so enjoy.**

**Henry's POV**

Henry knew her every move. He watched her go down the halls of the Institute, an air of authority and importance clinging to her. It made him feel dizzy, made him want to hold her and never let go.

If only.

He shouldn't complain. He had his inventions, he had the crypt, he had a nice home. But none of them compared to what he wanted. It was like he only had half of Charlotte, like he was attached to a rope that had only part of her to keep him from falling. But he knew he had already messed things up. By avoiding her at the best of times had seemed like the only way he could cope; but it only worsened his state as the years grew. Now it was like torture, agony spreading through him, preventing him from even smiling at her.

He never knew what Charlotte was thinking. He could never tell if she showed true signs of affection or whether it was misdirected. He only knew that she blushed whenever he called her Lottie. That was probably the only thing they shared between themselves. The only time he could see feelings for him displayed on her face - if they were feelings at all, it might've been a face of secret piteous embarrassment. He could never tell. But there were times when a possibility of a better relationship had always been hopeful to him, but he had always misjudged it. Those times were hard to ignore, a sense of despair lingering in the pit of his stomach while he worked the day away in his crypt.

He daydreamed during his work. He dreamed of whispers and laughter and kisses. He dreamed of a better version of himself replacing himself, confident and intent on providing the best life for his wife. Even when he was deep in thought, he was still conscious of reality placing him back to the ground. It was recurring, a life he could lead for a few minutes before someone came to release him from it.

His relationship with Lottie wasn't even worthy of saying it was platonic; nothing affectionate or intimate, and nothing at all sexual.

Nothing to suggest that he loved her, or even if she loved him. Just a rigid relationship that was only kept going by the desperateness of the Institute, and the thought of losing Lottie hitting him like a bomb. Even if he didn't have all of her, he still had a part of her. He still had Charlotte, and that was all that mattered. A small part of her was better than nothing. Wasn't it?

He walked out of the room and sat on his bed in despair, wondering how different it would be if she loved him...

Charlotte suddenly walked into the room, her expression a little confused yet surprised.

'Are you alright Henry?'

'I'm fine.' He muttered, his head bent.

She walked over to her dresser, and undid her plaits. He stared at her longingly, watching her hair tumble around her shoulders. He loved her hair in plaits, she looked like she was still 18. If only he could go back to that time, when they were both younger and more naive, more capable of love than they were now. But even back then, their relationship was still plain. He saw her hands threading her hair, and desire burned in his throat until he could hold it no longer; he walked over and spun her around, his lips touching hers for a brief second.

'You look lovely.' He whispered, Charlotte's expression still surprised and shocked. He walked swiftly away, his reminiscence of her lips the only thing that consoled him. He strolled down the steps to the crypt, his eyes blinking back what must've been moisture.

'Back to my toys.' He thought, with a bitter resentment. As he worked, he thought only of one other thing: His tools could fix nearly anything, could make him occupied and happy as he repaired one thing after the other; but ironically, it couldn't mend his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Charlotte's POV**

She could still never prepare for those small moments; the moments that were so unexpected, but wished would last longer.

She couldn't figure out anything about him, could never tell what was going on in his brilliant head. Charlotte had always thought he was brilliant. A little eccentric, a little out of place, but nonetheless a some kind of genius. It was why she always defended him when he was criticised. Always took the blame when it was obvious that it wasn't her fault. She did this because even if he didn't believe it, she loved him. She cared for him so deeply it was a miracle she was still going; only his semi-presence consoled her, as she hardly ever saw him apart from the crypt.

She knew the obvious; he would never truly love her like she loved him. But was there enough feeling between them to say that he cared? That he was maybe fond? She couldn't tell at all, and she supposed that was a dangerous point in their relationship. If you didn't know what you meant to the other person, how could you ever call it a relationship? She just only hoped there was a resolution.

Still, those moments sometimes out balanced the doubt; They were rare, and lasted only seconds. Although they still continued to surprise her, and created a feeling of crave. Was it unhealthy to crave something so small that lead her to break down so easily? She honestly didn't even know how she felt about it.

Charlotte knew Henry wasn't one to show his feelings. She couldn't remember the last time he held her hand, or the last time he complimented her. It might be unsafe to love this way; live a life of craving and lust that would never be returned. Even his knee brushing hers under the table was enough to make her heart skip.

She was mostly saddened by the lack of closeness, the lack of even talking.

She'd lose everything for him. She'd leave everything behind if it only meant one chance. Since she was 18 she had felt this way.

The way he called her Lottie made her blush every time. Charlotte had always loved the nickname, especially as he was the only one to call her that. It seemed like it was the only thing that held them together. Duty, mutual respect, and a nickname that was used only infrequently.

How she wished for more admiration, for intimate moments, for moments when they held each other. Just simple, effortless moments. It seemed she was missing out on love, but she was already used to the feeling of being unwanted, unloved and missed out on every opportunity that was presented to her. She only had distractions that subdued her from these thoughts, but they didn't escape easily enough.

She jumped, her hand on her heart in surprise.

A loud noise came from the hallway, and she walked quickly round to inspect it. Henry was against the wall, his hair covered in a thick layer of soot, his face as smudged and as dirty as the fumes which radiated from the factories of London. He clutched a device in his hand, breathing like he had run a mile, his body dropping to the floor in exasperation.

'Henry!' She shrieked, crouching low to make sure he was alright.

'What happened?' She asked, the distress clear in her voice.

'It...blew...up.' He said, tiredly.

'What did?' She asked.

He held up the small device in his hand, rasping a 'this'.

'Why do you still have it in your hand? It could hurt you!'

'I'm...fine...Lottie. Nothing...to worry about. Can't...throw it away...it would be a waste...'

'Oh Henry!' She said, shaking her head, 'You can't always depend on inventions. They're not the most important thing in the world you know!'

He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers.

'I know Lottie.'

For a second they just stared at each other, and she realised how Henry's answer seemed significant to the thought of herself being the most important thing in the world to him, but how could that be?

Finally, snapping back to reality, she realised that Henry was holding her hand. She looked down at their laced hands, her heart in her stomach. She looked into those hazel eyes once more and then pulled him up with her.

'Thanks.' He mumbled, but Charlotte didn't meet his eyes. She let go of his hand, walking down to the crypt where she saw the black smoke billowing inside like a deadly mist. She turned to see Henry behind her, and said 'Will that smoke clear?'

He nodded, 'In just a few minutes.'

'We need to get you to the Infirmary.'

She said, leading the way back up the stairs.

'I'm fine Charlotte-'

'No you're not.' She protested.

She held his hand while he sat on the Infirmary bed.

'You always know how to look after people.'

She smiled at him, but inside, her head was thinking 'he complimented me?'.

She left him, going back to her study.

The moment had lasted longer than previous ones, and it only made her want more. Her hand threaded through her hair in distress, her other pressed against her desk. Maybe it was too unsafe...too unstable. She knew that it didn't matter how much care she showed for him, it was never enough. She knew that Henry would never appreciate it. Whatever 'it' was. She knew their relationship would never get better, maybe just worse. Maybe it was inevitable. But one thing was for certain: she now knew the last time he had held her hand, and the last time he had complimented her.


End file.
